


there are things we do (and things we don't)

by groove_bunker



Category: Dollhouse, Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, I Love This Pairing So Much, This is Such a Fun Crossover, this is kind of sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groove_bunker/pseuds/groove_bunker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scales tip.<br/>Adelle can't handle it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there are things we do (and things we don't)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to 'it wasn't supposed to be like this' but it also works on its own, I guess.

After the third ping that isn’t a ping, even Artie gets suspicious.

You’re not sure if it’s the bag that’s already packed and ready to go or your nervous anticipation, the _waiting_ for a ping, as if you know what’s coming and where.

Pete goes with you, but he knows enough to not ask any questions. LA has nice beaches, there are cute girls, he’s happy. You make a mental note to buy him a really good Christmas present, not that he cares.

This time, she takes you for dinner, a fancy restaurant where they know her name and she has a _table_ for crying out loud. A glass of wine costs more than you earn in a week, but she’s a fancy woman and you don’t want her to think you can’t keep up.

Over dinner, you find yourself with more to discuss than you thought. It’s not like either of you can discuss your jobs in such a public forum, but she asks about your childhood, your life in Univille and you ask her what it’s like to be an English woman in Los Angeles and her favourite things. You practically feel the scales tipping all evening, from some kind of strange arrangement with a woman halfway across the country, to something that feels more like a relationship.

“Who was he?”

“Who?”

“The man you lost.”

“His name was…Dominic. He was a colleague, a trusted one. How did you know?”

“His name was Sam. Her name was Helena. My whole life has been a series of losing people; I’m adept at noticing those like me.”

“You think we are alike?”

“I think we are not dissimilar.”

The rest of the meal passes in relative silence. She pays the check and stands up, expecting you to follow her, back to the hotel room.

“You don’t think we are alike?”

“I think, darling, that you are a much better person than I will ever be. I would not like you to tar yourself with the same brush.”

This time though, she takes your hand and leads you out of the restaurant before hailing a cab. The silence is different, she is not angry now, but whatever she is, you cannot put your finger on. Not for the first time, you wish you had Leena’s gift, that you could see her aura because it would make things simpler.

And you reckon it would be beautiful.

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed and a note.

_I cannot do this any longer._

_I am sorry._

_A._


End file.
